


The Garden

by thedevilchicken



Category: Kill Bill (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-04
Updated: 2004-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither woman tried to pretend that there was feeling between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal on 4 May 2004.

There was never much between the Bride and O-Ren Ishii, at least not outside of their grudgingly-forged respect and lots of hot, hot sex; they touched and raked and pulled at each other, fingers tangling in hair, teeth scraping at skin, pushed up against a wall or a floor, an occasional bed. Neither woman tried to pretend that there was feeling between them. Neither woman wanted there to be. 

So that was why she went for O-Ren first - she was the lesser of, oh, five evils, so to speak. She was the one for whom the Bride held absolutely no feeling; somehow she knew that if she could only kill O-Ren then nonsensical as it seemed, she'd be ready to kill Bill. 

California, Okinawa, Tokyo - a couple of skips like stones on the ocean and there she was, sword in hand, bloodied and tingling. And there was O-Ren, all in white, gazing at her placidly across the still, white garden. 

They fought but in the stillness between their strikes there was something in that garden at the House of Blue Leaves - something that reminded her just briefly of another time, and another garden. But it had been spring then, and the sky was a bright and cloudless blue. 

They'd been surrounded by trees; there was a house behind them and Bill was somewhere in there, sipping warm sake with Elle and Budd. Well okay, so Budd was drinking a Bud, but Bill and Elle she knew were sipping sake. Vernita was out on assignment and O-Ren was waiting in the garden, kneeling by the pond under a cherry tree. Her sword lay on the damp grass by her knees; it was in her hands and pressed close to the Bride's bare throat as she stood beside her before she'd even had the time to blink.

Then O-Ren rose, slowly, a hint of a smile at her lips as she drew back her sword and allowed the Bride to draw hers, from the sheath that hung at her hip. It was starting to rain, lightly, warm droplets clinging to their hair and their skin, soaking into their flowing white robes and shaking them with an odd, warm chill. The trees were shedding their delicate pink blossom all around them, like a bloodstained snowfall. The rain touched the shining blades of their katanas and they slipped into their stance. 

They danced, in a shower of rain and the singing of swords. The Bride felt the strain in her arms, bone-deep, exhilarated with the weight of her weapon. They spun and clashed and then smiled and laughed in a sort of frenzied way, like they couldn't understand why or what was bubbling up inside of them, sparring partners on the icy side of cordial. But neither grew careless; the swords brushed at their skin but it was almost as if the blood was waiting for another day. 

Together, calmly ferocious, they whirled and brought the tips of their blades to touch at one another's throat. O-Ren's eyes remained calm even as the Bride felt her own fill with fire. Her sword was so fine that it could part fabric just as though it were air, or time. She remembered that O-Ren's skin that day had been just as pale as their robes, even as her eyes grew darker.

That day was gone, and it was now time for O-Ren to die. One more flash of her steel and it was done. 

But there was one moment, before O-Ren actually died out there in the snow, that the Bride almost believed that she felt a small twinge of regret. She didn't, hadn't, she'd decide later - she'd just wanted to, for old times' sake. It wasn't like the cold-hearted half-breed bitch hadn't got exactly what she'd deserved, after all... So she'd move on. She'd leave the garden and the eerie blue light, wash the blood from her skin and forget every night that she'd fallen asleep with small bruises on his skin left by O-Ren's hands, O-Ren's taste on her lips. She'd move on, she'd forget.

One down. As she left O-Ren's body lying there under snowflakes that looked just like cherry-blossom, she felt she could kill the rest with just one stroke.


End file.
